


Moon Sickness

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Menstruation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a Wasteland. Things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moon Sickness

“What the _hell_ did you do?” Arcade demanded.

Erin sorted through a dead veteran ranger’s pockets. “Nothing! I haven’t killed any NCR, I don’t get _caught_ stealing from them...”

“Then why are they sending assassins?” the Followers doctor pressed, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know! Maybe because the Legion actually doesn’t want to kill me?”

“If it makes you enemies with NCR, seems like more trouble than it’s worth.”

“No.” the brunette defended, counting Republic dollar before stuffing them in her jacket pocket. “I know what’s NCR, and I can throw on a trooper uniform and nobody’s the wiser, but the Legion? They have spies everywhere, and they know if you don’t... oof... belong there...” the Courier gritted out, holding her gut.

“You okay?” the Follower of the Apocalypse questioned, moving towards her.

“Yeah, I-I’m fine. Just hunger pains.”

She hunched slightly, and clicked at her Pip-Boy. “Cannibal Johnson’s got a decently safe place, and he doesn’t live far. We can cook up some gecko and sleep through the hot hours.”

“ _Cannibal_ Johnson?” he asked, knowing full-well who Cannibal Johnson was.

“Don’t worry about it.”

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“Courier! How’ve you been?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“And Arcade! Never thought I’d see you aga-”

Arcade was standing behind the Courier, waving his arms wildly. “...I’ve heard so much about you.” Johnson corrected.

The vaultie turned, and Arcade quickly slapped one hand on his hip, scratching the back of his neck with the other. “That’s not suspicious...” she remarked, rolled her eyes, and moved further into the cave.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Sheesh...” Arcade yawned, stretching his arms over his head. He hadn’t slept that well in a while- on a bedroll, instead of the floor. He glanced at the atomic clock on Cannibal’s nightstand: 5:27 p.m. Erin would normally have dragged him on their way at 4:30. Actually, Erin wasn’t in the cave. _Erin isn’t in the cave. Shit!_

Gannon jumped up, and grabbed his bag. “Whatever she’s up to, I swear-!”

The doctor tripped on her sleeping bag, but managed to right himself before a catastrophic fall. It squished wetly under his foot. Looking closer, he found it to be stained red. _Oh no no no-_ Arcade thought, because that was _just like Erin_ to try and take care of an injury herself, obstinate almost-doctor she was. He ran outside.

She was laying in the fetal position, leather jacket draped over her legs, arms curled up around herself. The Stealth Suit was in a heap to the side, a bloody rag crumpled together with it. “Go away...” she groaned into the dust.

“No way.” Arcade snorted, sitting cross-legged next to her. “Not until you let me patch you up.”

“No.” she replied, childishly.

“Look, either I’m going to bandage you up now, or you’re going to pass out, and I’ll do it anyways, but I’ll never let you live it down.” He was used to dealing with junkies that didn’t want treatment. They always got it.

“It’s not serious.” she defended, sitting up with knees still pinned to her chest.

“You’re losing a lot more blood than “not serious.” You’re losing “I lost a limb” much.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m going to keep annoying you until you tell me.”

Erin grumbled. “Just stupid _girl stuff_...”

“...Girl stuff?” he confirmed, processing. “... _Oh_. Girl stuff.”

“I told you to go away!” she said, muffled by the way her face was buried in her jacket.

“Girl stuff.” Arcade said, standing and digging in his bag. “Okay, I’ll get a rag.” He handed her two tablets he fished from the bag. “Here. Aspirin.”

The Courier took them dry, an ability from years of Buffout addiction. “God bless your beautiful soul, Arcade.”

“I’m a doctor. It’s my job.”


End file.
